


Checklist: It Takes Two

by aac7



Series: Hilda & the Fawn [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Felix is the Man of Honour, Fluff, Hilda is the Best Woman, Post-Canon, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: As the wedding planner in charge of putting on the grandest wedding in Fódlan, it’s Hilda’s job to put out fires. Sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively. She thought that bringing on the bride’s Man of Honour, one feisty Felix Hugo Fraldarius, would help.It does and doesn’t.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Hilda & the Fawn [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777594
Comments: 15
Kudos: 50





	1. Fódlani Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back, baby!

“First order of business will be the dress, because it’ll take the longest to get through,” Hilda begins, running down her checklist. “I need you to get Byleth down for a fitting at the first chance you get— I have her measurements, but I want to see her in a few mock-up gowns get a better idea of what she wants. After that, we need to bring her down to Lysithea in the kitchens where you’ll meet Claude for cake tasting. Then we need to meet Marianne in the greenhouse to look at bouquets. Once that’s settled, we need to get their opinion on the decorations. Lorenz has some ideas drawn up for them in the library. I already have them up in Byleth’s study signing off on invitations. They should be done in— Hey! Put that sword down, Fraldarius.” 

Giving his sword a few threatening swings, Felix shoots her a glare. “You said we were going to spar.” 

“Well, I lied,” she admits with a shrug. “It’s the only way I could get you down here without having to tie you to the back of my wyvern. The wedding is in two months, Felix. This is the one day that Claude and Byleth have dedicated to making all their decisions. We need to keep them on track.” Between the diplomatic meetings, summits, conferences, and other things that made Hilda’s head spin, the couple had finally found time to help plan their wedding.

While the two of them were busy pushing the agenda of not one, but two countries, Hilda had been working an agenda of her own. Wedding planning was no small feat. She’d gone into this task with bright eyes and a bushy tail, because it was just a party! Who didn’t love planning a good party? It seemed she’d forgotten that this was no ordinary party, and that she’d need a plan beyond cute, coordinated outfits and spiked punches. 

Now, a month into the process, she was a little less enthusiastic. The inspiration board (which was more hers than Byleth’s at this point), was in desperate need of editing. The cork was densely overpopulated, as if the lists were copulating like wyverns in heat the moment she turned her back to them. Each time Hilda closed her eyes at night, the thought of the various lists sitting in her desk haunted her dreams, tugging her out of sleep and occupying her thoughts. Lists filled the board, and she was severely overwhelmed by the lists underneath the ‘To Do,’ category, as opposed to the sparseness of the ‘Done,’ category. 

There were so many people to touch base with. Caterers and bakers, florists and favour crafters, musicians and ushers. However, each time she approached the stolen cork board, she found herself adding _more_. Pin-ups of dress sketches, layers of colour swatches, fabric swatches, flower combos. 

She really hoped that today would help.

“And by ‘we,’ you mean ‘you,’” Felix deadpans, sword still clutched in his hand as he drops his arm. “You’re the wedding planner, not me.” 

“You’re also the Man of Honour,” she reminds him, shoving the carefully detailed plan into his chest. “You should be just as involved as I am.” 

His glare is colder than a Faerghan winter, accompanied by a dignified huff as he sheaths his sword a little too reluctantly for Hilda’s liking. The war was over, why did he even still carry that thing on him? Fashion? Some Faerghan trend she didn’t know about? “I’d rather drag myself through Ailell than be involved in wedding planning. I thought I just had to plan a party, give a speech, and show up to the wedding?”

“Well yes, but there’s more,” Hilda sighs, wondering why Byleth hadn’t done the easy thing and picked Marianne. Surely that would have made this whole process smoother? “You and I are the ones the bride and groom will lean on in making decisions.” Felix still doesn’t seem convinced, so she adds, “how long have I been planning this wedding?”

“I don’t know, a month maybe?” Felix guesses, shrugging.

Hilda places her hands on both her hips. “Well, Byleth has probably been planning it since they’ve gotten engaged, and that was almost eight months ago now. Flowers, decoration, food, drink, her dress! The wedding of her dreams!” 

Felix recoils at the mere description of the wedding he’s now involved in. “Are we even talking about the same Byleth? Or do you know more than one?” 

“A wedding is a really special thing you know? It’s every girl’s dream to try on the perfect— the perfect dress made of the finest silks and laces. To cut a piece from a delicious five-tiered vanilla wedding cake with pretty gold accents—” she chokes back some tears, and Felix stiffly hands her a handkerchief. She noisily wipes her tears and blows her nose before continuing, realizing that it’s not even a handkerchief, it’s a rag reeking of sword oil. 

“Are we still talking about _Byleth and Claude’s_ wedding? Or do you have your own issues that need resolving?”

Hilda wads up the rag and throws it at him. “I’m not finished, you stab-happy fool. The most important part of a wedding is sharing your love with those close to you and being happy with your choices. Isn't that what you want, Felix? For your friend to be happy?” 

“Of course I do,” he mutters, cheeks turning pink. “But I’m not good at this stuff.”

“Anyone can be good at this stuff!” Hilda exclaims, happy to have broken through the swordsman’s rough exterior. “You just have to be honest and know when your input is and isn’t needed.” 

  
  
  


**__________**

  
  
  


“That length is impractical, you’ll be on the move all night.” 

“Tch. That colour washes you out. You’re already pale enough.”

“That one is too tight. Where would you effectively conceal your dagger?”

“That one just makes you look like an overstuffed cream puff.” 

“Are you saying I look...fat?” Byleth’s face scrunches as she turns back to the mirror, a deep frown on her face as she picks at the tulle skirt of the pathetic gown adorning her figure. Felix only shrugs. 

Two pairs of eyes zero in on Felix at his most recent statement, and the room is dead silent before Ingrid sputters that no, Her Majesty _absolutely does not_ look fat, shooting Felix a glare from across the room. _Was it something he said?_

Hilda makes the next move, rolling her eyes before making a grab for his wrist. “Felix, can I talk to you for a second?” 

He leans away so he’s out of reach. “No.”

“Come on,” she groans, instead grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and tugging him towards the door. “Ingrid, can you help Byleth into the next gown? I need to have a word with the man of honour about some scheduling issues,” she calls over her shoulder. _Oh, so it wasn’t something he said._

As soon as the door is closed behind them and Hilda releases him, she immediately whirls around and smacks the back of his skull. “What the heck is wrong with you?” She growls between smacks, pointing an accusing finger at him as he rubs the back of his head. 

“I was just doing what you said! Giving my opinion!” He protests, backing away from her in case she decides to swipe at him again. 

She shoots him an incredulous look, holding the ends of her measuring tape tightly. The look on her face tells Felix that she may strangle him with it. He dares her to try. “Yeah, but you don’t even give her a chance to develop her own opinion first! You just open your big stupid mouth and tear into the dress before she has a chance to even step in front of the mirror!”

One of his redeeming qualities was that Felix has always been quick. Quick on his feet when sidestepping an enemy’s blow, and quick to let others know what he was thinking. “Well, if I think it looks stupid on her, shouldn’t I say so?”

Hilda only shakes her head at him. “You have to let her figure that out on her own. If Byleth loves it, then she loves it. It’s up to her, not us. We’re just here to offer moral support.”

Felix still isn’t quite sure what that means. He wasn’t good at offering moral support — he’s been told he has questionable morals — so where did that leave him? “So just…don’t say anything unless she asks?”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Hilda sighs in relief, spinning on her heel and heading back into Byleth’s chambers. “Now let’s get back in there, we left Ingrid and Byleth with big fancy dresses. You could send them to single-handedly take down an entire convoy of bandits, but leave them alone with a wedding dress? They’re completely out of their depth, and the world just may implode.”

 _True enough,_ Felix silently agrees as he follows her in. At least he isn’t the only one.

While Ingrid and Hilda help Byleth get the next dress, Felix tries his best to remember a few compliments he’d unfortunately heard Sylvain spew to woo girls. At least _one_ of his disgustingly corny lines about had to qualify as ‘moral support.’ 

He’s in the middle of filtering through some unfortunately sexual pick-up lines when Ingrid steps around the changing screen. “Here she is!” Hilda squeals excitedly, and Felix lifts his gaze, a practiced line of praise ready to roll off his tongue. 

It dies before it leaves his lips. 

Hilda helps her onto a stool, and Byleth stands in front of the three way mirror, taking in the dress from different angles. She looks...good. It wasn’t that he was attracted to her, he wasn’t Sylvain, for crying out loud. She was his professor, his commander, and comrade in arms. She was Byleth, the ex-mercenary who handled a sword better than royally trained knights of the former Kingdom. She was Byleth, his good friend, never more, never less. 

Felix just wasn’t used to her looking so...pretty. 

“You look beautiful, Your Majesty,” Ingrid nods approvingly as Hilda steps back to straighten the train of the dress. 

“I agree,” Hilda comments. She continues to flit around, measuring, placing pins, making small adjustments. “I’ll have some lace sewn over here…I’m thinking of an off-shoulder illusion neckline. The sleeves will come about here… I’ll put gold accents here, but other than that, the basic silhouette and design is really what we’re looking at right now. It’s an A-line dress, so it’s extremely versatile and works with most material, adding a lot of flair. It’s also a very flattering cut that’s become quite popular as of late. You won’t even need a corset! It’s got a nice cinched waist already.”

Byleth doesn’t look displeased as she tilts her head, running her hands over the skirt of the dress. “Felix? What do you think,” she asks, staring at him in the mirror.

The two women turn to face him, and he knows they’re doing it so Byleth can’t see the discreet threat written across their faces, Ingrid cracking her knuckles. One wrong word and Hilda will hold him down while Ingrid beats him with Lúin.

Felix swallows the lump in his throat. “You look nice.” 

“Really?” Byleth asks softly, her expression lifting as soon as the words leave his lips. “You really think so?” Felix nods dumbly.

“Yeah, the dress it...it looks great,” he mumbles quietly. “It looks great on you, but it would— uh, it would look better on...Claude’s floor.” 

Red hot embarrassment burns in his temples as he turns away, ignoring Ingrid’s dumbfounded gaping and Hilda’s snickers. 

“Are you hitting on my fiancée for me? I appreciate the help, Fraldarius, but I think the ring on her finger speaks for itself.” 

Claude stands in the doorway, licking his lips as he looks Byleth up and down. “Stars, By, you look—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, ducking to narrowly avoid the pincushion that Hilda throws at him. “Hey! Is that any way to treat your future king consort?” He laughs, striding into the room despite the hostility. 

Ingrid steps in front of Byleth, as if defending her from an assailant. “Claude, what are you doing here?”

Claude doesn’t move, his feet planted firmly on the ground. “I’m the groom. I heard they‘re popular at weddings. The question here, O’ descendant of Daphnel, is what are _you_ doing here?” He mocks with haughty flourish. “I thought Marianne was coming. At least Marianne won’t yell at me.”

Felix sees the vein on Ingrid’s forehead start to pop. In his many experiences, that is never a good sign. “Marianne is in the greenhouse, getting a few arrangements sorted,” Byleth says, peeking around the defensive blonde. “Ingrid is one of my other bridesmaids,” she reminds him, a triumphant smile on Ingrid’s face as Claude tries to hide his grimace. “Is that a problem?” 

“No,” Ingrid replies, but Felix catches the way her shoulders tense momentarily. He’s never seen her this stressed around someone who wasn’t himself or Sylvain.

“Course not, I can be civil,” Claude grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

An awkward silence falls over the room. Hilda shuffles her feet, Felix sighs heavily. Byleth rolls her eyes. 

Ingrid looks away first, mumbling something about insolence and immaturity. Claude seems to take this as a win, side-stepping around Ingrid’s protective stance. Hilda somehow manages to stop her from engaging Claude in a fist fight. 

“You look incredible,” Claude says, smiling up at Byleth, who is still on the stool in front of the mirror. 

Conscious of the pins adorning the gown, he takes one of her hands, kissing the back of every finger and crevice of her hand gingerly as Byleth’s entire face turns pink.

Felix resists the urge to gag. They’re disgusting— _disgustingly cute._

...The kind of cute Annette would appreciate. Maybe he should be taking notes.

“Why are you here anyways, Claude? I thought you were addressing envelopes with Ignatz?” Hilda questions when Claude’s finally detached his lips from Byleth’s hand. 

“Ignatz is a master calligrapher, Hilda. We finished in record time. I came to get Her Majesty for cake testing. Seems I’ve come early,” Claude explains, and his hand still holding Byleth’s as she steps off the stool. 

“We haven’t even decided on a—”

“This is the one,” Byleth interrupts. “I love it, and I love your vision,” she says, looking up at Claude, the smile on her face brighter than the Almyran sun. Claude stares down at her, and this time, his smile is different. Felix had learned to read body language at a young age. He’d been told various times by his father that reading an enemy’s hostile intentions would save his life (and it had, more than he cared to admit). 

Being able to read non-verbal cues wasn’t just useful in combat. Body language constitutes about sixty percent of what an individual communicates, revealing what they might really be thinking. Though Claude maintained a mask better than the boar king himself had, one thing that betrayed even the most practiced poker face was the eyes. 

Pupils dilated, Claude is drinking in Byleth’s every feature, holding her gaze steadily, as if she’s the only person in the room. Felix disliked eye contact. It was something so vulnerable, so intimate, but for them, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. 

This smile, Felix observes, definitely reaches his eyes.

“We have a few minutes before cake testing,” Claude says suddenly, scooping Byleth up. She yelps in surprise, barely managing to keep the veil from slipping off her head. “Maybe we can see if this dress really _does_ look good on my floor?” 

“Claude! I still need to get her measurements!” Hilda argues as he makes his way to the door. When her attempt at stopping him proves to be ineffective, she sighs in defeat. “If you’re late for the cake testing I’ll throw eggs through your window!” 

Ingrid, on the other hand, isn’t so easily deterred. “Claude, Fódlani tradition states that it’s bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding!” Felix is sure that whatever Claude is planning doesn’t involve Byleth being _in_ the dress.

Claude stops in the doorway, turning to Ingrid and sending her a wink and a sly smile that Felix is sure will have her blood boiling. “Good thing I’m not from Fódlan then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, two months later: oopsies
> 
> Laughing at myself for saying two weeks. I really played myself huh.


	2. Crumbs & Yums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A contest, a concert, and a couple so sweet that Hilda gets a tooth ache.

“Glad to see you two made it,” Hilda giggles when the happy couple finally find their way to the kitchen. Hilda takes one look at them, explicitly choosing _not_ to comment on Claude’s untucked shirt and Byleth’s ridiculous sex hair. If this were any other day, she would have teased them relentlessly, but they were on a schedule, and they were already behind.

“Any reason why we’re standing outside of the kitchen and not inside of it?” Byleth asks, trying to peek around her. 

“Felix is helping Lysithea out in the kitchen,” Hilda explains. “For some reason she doesn’t want me, Hilda Valentine Goneril, helping her make an angel food cake. Look at me! I’m an angel.” 

Claude and Byleth exchange a look. “I’m not so sure about that,” Claude chuckles. “I’m sure she’d ask you for help with a devil’s food cake though.”

Hilda is about to protest that the devil would have let Lorenz and all his noble flair plan their wedding, but the words are swallowed when they hear a loud explosion. It rattles the doors to the kitchen, and Byleth doesn’t let another moment pass, drawing her god sword and throwing the doors open before disappearing into the suspicious cloud of smoke. 

Hilda and Claude are a tad more hesitant, lingering out in the hall. “Only your fiancée would rush headfirst into kitchen fire with a sword,” Hilda coughs, fanning some smoke out of her face. “What’s she gonna do? Stab it?” 

They hear a yell, followed by a string of expletives. Hilda swears she hears the whip of Byleth’s sword extending. She reluctantly follows Claude inside, and has to stifle her laugh when she lays eyes on the scene.

Lysithea is repeatedly smacking Felix with a wooden spatula, there’s sugar in every crevice of the kitchen, and Byleth is using the tip of her sword to poke at a much smaller fire than she anticipated on the stove. “What the hell happened in here?” Claude questions, inspecting the granules of sugar that are now stuck to the bottom of his boot.

Lysithea ceases the smacking as her and Felix both begin yelling incoherently, pointing accusatory fingers at each other.

“Whoa, one at a time, please,” Byleth says firmly in her Professor Eisner voice. “Lysithea, you first.”

“I told Felix not to put so much sugar in the food processor, but he didn’t listen and then just started it at the highest speed!” Lysithea explains exasperatedly, Felix ducking to dodge her flailing, spatula-wielding arm. _Well, that explains the sugar,_ Hilda thinks as she looks around at the dusting of sugar coating the kitchen like freshly fallen snow. 

When Felix springs back up, he gestures to the blackened oven. “I only put so much because I was distracted watching you try to light the kitchen on fire with a mediocre Sagittae spell!” Claude dumps a bucket of water over the stove, reducing it to a sizzle.

Lysithea looks wholly offended, looking about ready to eviscerate Felix with her cooking utensil. “Mediocre— the oven was taking way too long to preheat! I was trying to be efficient!” 

“And by efficient you mean _lighting the whole kitchen on fire?”_

This time, Lysithea throws the spatula at him, and Hilda can’t hold back her laughter. “Annette was right— you really are evil!” 

“What was I right about?” Perfectly timed, Annette walks into the kitchen, holding a tray of cupcakes. Her eyes widen as she looks around. “Whoa, what happened here?”

Felix flushes a deep red as Annette sets her cupcakes aside and reaches up to sweep some sugar off his shoulder. “Lysithea and I tried to make a cake,” he admits sheepishly. 

Annette peeks around him, watching as Byleth and Claude examine the burnt remains of the stove. “I thought I was bad.”

“You _are_ bad,” he grounds out stubbornly, and Annette’s amused gaze instantly turns sharp, a look that Hilda didn’t think sweet little Annette was capable of turning out.

“You think _you’re_ any better, Felix Fraldarius? You can’t even ground sugar right!” She picks up one of her cupcakes, waving it inches away from his face, pink icing wielded threateningly. “These only took me four attempts this time!”

It’s Claude that laughs at that, and everyone whirls around. “Why is baking so hard for you guys? It’s a simple science,” he says as if he hadn’t been the one to one to burn boiled eggs during the Academy’s meal prep. Byleth had never assigned him to kitchen duty again, and Hilda had refused to eat eggs for two weeks. “It’s just mixing stuff with other stuff to get a reaction. I do that all the time.”

“Please,” Byleth scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You mixing together potions and brews like a witch is not the same thing as baking. The only similarity between the two is if concocted by you, would result in a product of questionable colour and stomach problems upon ingestion.” 

There’s an edge in her voice, and Hilda groans internally, recognizing the challenge she was imposing. Claude could never turn one down, especially from the professor. 

That was never good for the rest of them.

“You think you could do any better? Last night you asked me about the difference between cake flour and regular flour,” Claude retorts, and Lysithea stops her sweeping to release a scandalized gasp.

Byleth flushes red, her forehead creasing. “You couldn’t even tell me the difference! You had to ask the baker!” 

Lysithea steps between the two of them, her arms outstretched as if she’s Marianne calming two riled up steeds. “Okay, how about this,” Lysithea offers slowly, looking between the two of them. “I still have an unmade angel food cake. Why don’t we get this cleaned up and see who can make the best—”

She doesn’t get to finish her proposal before they both spring into action. Claude immediately grabs Hilda’s arm before she manages to slink out. _Oh no_. “Chefs Claude and Hilda reporting for duty.” A horrible decision on his part, really. 

“Felix, get over here,” Byleth snaps, and Felix, with great reluctance, stalks over to her side. 

In a last ditch attempt to get out of the latest excursion he’s dragged her into, she shoots Claude her best for eyes. “You really want me on your team?” She groans, trying her best to twist out of his grip. “Delicate little me?” 

“If we win, I’ll buy you two boxes of those Almyran beads you like so much,” he says, and Hilda’s eyes widen. So he _had_ been listening to her earlier.

She grabs a white towel laying nearby, handing it to Felix. “Here,” she says, thrusting it into his hands. “A white flag. You’ll be waving it in surrender when we crush you.”

Felix’s eyes darken as scowls at her, balling up the towel and tossing it back in her face. “I don’t intend on losing. The only thing I’ll be waving is your head on a stick.”

Byleth laughs, Claude chokes on his retort, and Hilda recoils slightly.

_Dear goddess, why couldn’t I plan a normal wedding with normal people?_

  
  
  


__________

  
  
  


Felix considered himself adept in lots of things. Swordplay, brawling, reason magic. 

Okay, that was only three, but they were the only things that mattered, in his opinion. 

Baking was not one of those things. It requires a considerable amount of patience, and Felix had a notoriously low level of it. Years of being around the antics of Ingrid, Sylvain, and even his father had whittled it down until it was nearly nonexistent. 

“Felix, I think you’re over-whipping the egg whites,” Byleth comments as she measures out the dry ingredients. 

He only grunts in reply, gripping the whisk harder and whipping the stupid egg whites faster. They still aren’t turning the colour they're supposed to, they don’t look like foam, therefore they aren’t right. “Not done,” he bites out, and Byleth shrugs, turning back to her measuring. 

When they finally turn into something that’s not liquid mush, Felix drops the bowl down onto the counter. His arm hurt a little more than he cared to admit. When he had the occasional nightmare of losing his sword arm, it was never to something so mundane as a _cake._

  
  


__________

  
  
  


Hilda considered herself good at lots of things. Makeup, fashion, throwing the occasional axe. 

She put effort into the things she liked, and it just so happened that Claude and Byleth were on that list. 

But they were making her work. They were moving down on her list of likes, especially now that Claude was making her actually make a cake. They were supposed to try cake today! Not bake it themselves.

“Claude, are we done yet?” She whines, watching as he folds the flour mixture into the whipped egg whites. 

“Does it look like a cake yet?” 

From her perch on the counter, she crosses her arms over her chest and releases an indignant huff. She really doesn’t care for his attitude. 

Annette and Lysithea come around to supervise their progress. Hilda watches gleefully as Felix gets a little red in the face as Annette pats his arm and praises his efforts. Who knew little Annie would be the one to soften the swordsman’s cold, Faerghan heart?

They come by their station next, Annette humming a merry little tune as Lysithea looks at Claude’s cake batter. 

“Don’t over mix it,” she warns, “or else your cake will end up too dense.”

He catches her cue, and grabs a nearby cake pan, beginning to scoop batter into the pan Hilda is...pretty sure she greased.

As he shovels the batter in, Hilda is about to say something, but Claude does something Hilda was totally not expecting. 

He starts to _sing_.

_“...today’s dinner is steak and then a cake that’s yummy yum…”_

It’s not a song Hilda has ever heard before. Though his notes are awfully flat, he doesn’t even look aware that he’s singing it.

 _“Now it’s time to fill my tummy tummy tum—”_ Hilda turns when she hears Annette’s voice, melodic and sweet. But she cuts herself off suddenly with a loud gasp as she freezes, her entire face turning redder than Sylvain’s hair.

Before she can say anything, _Felix_ chimes in with a line of his own as he levels out the batter in their cake pan. _“Oh, this mountain of sweets, and treats that I love to eats…”_

Annette looks like she wants to shove her head into the oven and ask Lysithea to light up another Sagittae spell as Felix and Claude lock eyes. The unexpected pair of troublemakers wear identical smirks on their faces

To Hilda’s absolute delight, the King of Almyra and the Duke of Fraldarius both belt out, in terrible pitch, _“Oh, steaks and cakes and crumbs and yums—”_

“This isn’t choir practice!” Lysithea yells, smacking them both with her fearsome spatula. “Get your cakes in the oven!” 

“Yes, chef!” Claude salutes, stepping around a fuming Annette. 

Hilda thinks she sees steam coming from the girl’s ears. “Felix! You told him the cake song?” She hisses, reaching up to grab his ear. She’s dragging him over to the counter, muttering about evilness as Felix shoots a pleading look over to Byleth. 

Byleth smiles at him, then turns away to put her cake in the oven. 

“Annette, what are you doing?” He groans when it becomes apparent that no one is interested in helping him.

She pulls a jar of hard candies out from a cabinet, setting it down in front of him with a loud thud. “Force feeding you every sweet I can find!”

The average person wouldn’t see that as a punishment, but Felix was not your average person.

An eternity and twenty-seven choked down candies later, their cakes were finally done, with no Sagittae spells or heimlich maneuvers necessary. 

Byleth’s cake comes out looking mostly okay. They flip it onto the now clean countertop as her and Felix poke at it. 

Hilda and Claude aren’t as lucky. 

“Hilda—” He slams the pan onto the counter a third time, and the cake does not come out. “Did you grease the pan at all?” 

Oh, right. She didn’t. “I...didn’t. Oopsies,” she laughs, but Claude does not look amused.

Several whacks and a little bit of digging later, their cake mostly comes out. Except it doesn’t look like a cake. They don’t have a chance to fix it though, they simply throw on some icing that Claude stole from Byleth when she wasn’t looking over the more bumpy edges (the whole thing was bumpy). 

“Cut us your best slice of angel food cake and bring it over please,” Lysithea says a little unenthusiastically as she eyes their cakes.

Byleth and Felix’s slice, though suspiciously pink in colour, looks perfect compared to theirs. Their pile of large crumbs covered in white icing looks...interesting, to put it nicely.

Lysithea and Annette look mortified, and understandably pass over their cake to try the opposing teams cake first. They both get a good amount of cake and icing on their fork and chew thoughtfully, whispering to each other. 

“You over-whipped the egg whites, so your cake is dense and definitely a little tough to chew,” Annette says through a cough. “But— oh goddess why is it so spicy?” Beside her, Lysithea is panting between sips of water. 

“I put a little chili powder in it,” Felix shrugs, but Hilda can see the smile he’s suppressing tugging on the corners of his lips. 

“A _little_?” Lysithea sputters, sweat beginning to form on her brow. “I told you to follow the recipe! Byleth, why did you let him do this?”

“The cake was looking a little bland.” So she was a willing conspirator. 

When Claude starts to laugh, Lysithea turns to glare at him, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Don’t you laugh at them! Look at this!” She holds their lump of cake up for everyone to see, prodding it with her fork. “It looks like it fell from a very high place, it’s way too dense, and somehow is overcooked _and_ undercooked at the same time! I don’t even want to put it in my mouth.” 

A little harsh.

“You’re all losers,” Lysithea deadpans. “You shouldn’t be allowed in a kitchen ever again, and thanks to you I’ll never be able to eat angel food cake without being reminded of this...horror.”

Claude doesn’t even look mildly offended. “You’ll get over it in two weeks. It’s like Hilda with the eggs,” he says, and Hilda shudders.

“Well, we still have cakes to try,” Annette reminds them, holding up her cupcakes. “Each one is a unique flavour that Lysithea and I like, topped with a generic buttercream frosting.” 

She points at each one, listing off the flavours as Lysithea dumps the failed angel food cakes into the trash. “There’s salted caramel, strawberries and cream, tiramisu, lemon, and dark chocolate champagne,” she says proudly. 

Claude picks up the lemon cupcake, holding it out for Byleth to take a bite before taking one himself. 

“Oh, you have some icing there,” Claude says when he and Byleth discuss, pointing to her lip. She tries and fails to wipe the white icing off the corner of her mouth. 

“Did I get it?” 

Claude shakes his head. “Not even close, here,” he leans forward and kisses the corner of her mouth, then pulls back to lick his own lips. “Delicious.” Hilda hopes he’s talking about the icing. Lysithea groans loudly at the sickeningly sweet public display of affection. 

“Oh, your cupcake is pretty good too,” Claude adds with a wink. “But not quite what we’re looking for.” This time Byleth picks up a cupcake, holding it out to Claude. He completely bypasses the cupcake, instead giving her fingers a teasing lick and making her giggle.

In retrospect, she should have known that Claude and his lack of self control around Byleth would throw their schedule off completely. They’re about forty-five minutes late to meet Marianne. 

She should have brought Ingrid (Lúin) to keep Claude on track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marianne came by the kitchen to see what's taking so long, but sees smoke and hears Lysithea yelling at Claude and quickly walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I see you, I love you, I appreciate you. 
> 
> I hope you're staying safe in these trying times!


End file.
